"Word has come from Klarn," he sobbed from weariness. "The _mekniks_ have invited the Darksiders to join them in expelling the _dulars_. They promise the Darksiders that, for their help, they will aid them to conquer the other cities of the Klarnva!" Harth grunted curses, looking at Flane. Flane patted his weapon and grinned mirthlessly, "We'd better hurry, Harth. Perhaps we can catch the Darksiders before they unite with the _mekniks_. If ever they join forces, even this violet fire in my hands may not be enough to stop them!" He said to the messenger, "How many of the Darksiders go to Klarn?" "They are as the stars twinkling in the sky on a cold winter night," he answered. "They have with them many queer engines of destruction. They march side by side with the mountain chain, so that we of the plains will not notice them." "I posted spies on the fastest _megathons_ we owned," said Harth. "Were they the ones who brought this news?" "They are. They say that even if we could equip an army with _megathons_ as fleet as theirs, there would be no chance to overtake the Darksiders." Flane walked back and forth, like a caged _valgon_. He saw ruin of all his hopes crashing around him. No longer was there chance to unite Darksider and Klarnva, if once the _mekniks_ and the outlanders joined forces. They would be mad with blood-lust, with the hot urge to kill and conquer. It was too late. Even the violet weapon could not help him. Unless-- He whirled on Harth, crying, "Full speed over those mountains! We are the sole hope of the Klarnva, we in this magniship. Under our feet is the only power that can bring us to the Darksiders before they merge with the _mekniks_." "Are you mad?" whispered Harth, eyes round. "We number a few score on the ship. Can we stand before the Darksiders in battle?" "Can't you see? We have to. If we fail, then there will be none to mourn us, for the Darksiders and the _mekniks_ will sweep over the cities of the Klarn as a sandstorm sweeps the desert! We can't stop to reckon consequences. It is all or nothing. We must toss the dice--and clean our weapons!" Aevlyn stood by his side, red mouth curving into a tiny smile. "He asks us to go with him and taste death, Harth," she whispered. "We have no chance, and yet--and yet, I vote to go with him." Harth shrugged, "What use for me to speak? If the hereditary princess of the Moornalian Klarnva says we fight, then we fight." There were tears in Aevlyn's eyes as she looked at Flane. She whispered, "If only we had a chance!" III For five days and nights, the magniship crept through the mountains. Over jagged peak and snow-draped hump they floated swiftly. At its rails stood keen-eyed men who strained their sight peering across the barren plains beyond, and fingered shining weapons. Occasionally, they ran wet tongues around dry lips, for the mark of death lay strong upon them.